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I'm just going to babble since I have a million thoughts in my head.

I'm a person who fights for what they believe in and who/what they care for. People can know they mean a lot to me if I actually put in the effort to get upset about something -- this goes for the other side of the coin, too. I will not bother having a disagreement/open dialogue with someone if I've concluded they are not worth the caring and the effort to do so. This may get me into a little trouble -- but here's a recent example. A man tried to be my best friend and for a while was quite good at it. Then, things just ... changed. Maybe he got tired of me but I just wasn't up there in his priorities anymore. I tried having an open dialogue, in the beginning, and I tried to change so many things on my side that he said was making the friendship feel like a drag -- BUT HE DIDN'T EVEN ATTEMPT TO CHANGE A SINGLE THING ON HIS END and just continued to act as though I never existed. So, I did what any sane person would do. I stopped. Cold turkey. I haven't spoken to him since. He does text me now and then and I'm tempted to block his number but I am far too lazy and it's just not worth the effort of reblocking it every three months. I kind of feel bad about it, too. Maybe, with time, things will just naturally change -- but I'm not putting any stock in it. I feel like I failed because I fought so hard in the beginning for this friendship. I fought tooth and nail. I cried over it. Eventually, I realized, that if he wasn't willing to treat me as an equal in this friendship (in other words: equal give and take) then ... he wasn't deserving of me.

I've adopted that with everything. If you don't treat me like your equal I just won't bother.

A lot of the times I end up getting hurt because I have expectations. I naturally expect people to be as understanding as I am, as loving as I am, as tolerant as I am -- but people aren't. I go into things expecting people to treat me the way that I treat them, to go as far for me as I would for them; my heart has been broken so many times because of expectations. I really should know better by now but I always end up having pre-conceived expectations with everything.

There are people that find it odd that I would be okay with a significant other sleeping with someone else. Sex is sex to me -- and unless I love you with the entirety of my existence -- I'm really not going to enjoy it on that level and I won't approach for it, either. But people need sex; well, most people need sex because it's important to them -- I wouldn't want to compromise someone's core of who they are because I'm an asexual and demisexual (in certain instances). I don't know. I've just concluded that people cheat. Not because they want to but because of some biological push. In terms of biology -- it makes sense. In terms of the human heart, I want to be the only you ever love kind of bullshit, it's earth-shattering. I just don't see why I should be mad at someone for straying, to the point of leaving over it, when there are other things to try first -- like figuring out why it happened in the first place, compromising, speaking about it over and over again. I've come to learn that in relationships, any kind of relationship, as much as you may feel like you're one person because you oh so love them so much or you just have intense attachment strategies -- you're two separate individuals with separate feelings, thought processes, wants, needs, vulnerabilities, insecurities ... and it's important to remember that.

My head is just swimming in thoughts.

I didn't get any sleep last night because I had one of those anxiety attack things where I start thinking in the terms of NEVER. Which is dumb. I finally managed to mentally calm down around 11 am and have been okay since then. I don't know why I doubt my intellectual ability so much. I do know that, a few days before the MCAT, I'm going to have to get an RX for Xanax to keep me calm during the exam. I don't process exams well -- it's how I process things when people confront me or I feel as though I've done something horribly wrong to the person:

My breathing starts getting irregular. My heart pounds -- the way it pounds in the beginning of a panic attack. My thoughts mishmash together. Words tumble out of my mouth the way my hand just flies across exam paper -- an attempt to do what I've done millions of times but, suddenly, fumbling and drawing a blank and, in a moment of intense panic, start writing whatever I can think of and get lost in it -- kind of the way I start saying shit, comprehending the shit I'm saying as I'm saying it, fumbling over it in an attempt to correct what I just said and only make it worse -- and once I hit that FUMBLING FUMBLING FUMBLING ATTEMPT TO FRANTICALLY FIX AND CONVEY CORRECTLY ... I can never go back. My mind is too far gone. My hand has filled out the majority of the exam. My mouth said enough stupid crap to hang heavily in the air for at least five years to come.

Even with all of this, though, I'm a fighter. My Grandmother, on her death bed, pushed for me to stand up for myself more. My mother. My deceased sister. I don't necessarily like standing up for myself and sometimes I feel guilty but I already know that if I ever make it to the point of residency in my medical education: I am going to fight tooth and nail to reform the way they teach us to be doctors. I think it's stupid to take residents from their fields of choice (such as psychiatry, primary care, pediatrics, gynecology) and shove them in an unrelated field such as emergency room medicine for at least 6 months. SO MANY PATIENTS ARE CONSTANTLY PUT IN DANGER BECAUSE OF THIS. Why does a Psychiatrist need to know how to identify and treat a blood clot in the leg? Why does an endocrinologist need to know how to remove that steel pole someone jammed in their head while they were too drunk to notice? I'm pretty sure my drift is being caught here. If I want to be a Jack of all Trades kind of doctor then yes, I definitely and willingly would go into a residency for emergency medicine -- BUT I AM NOT A GOOD CANDIDATE FOR THAT, I KNOW THIS, so why the hell are you going to basically force me to not only be a threat to my own mental health but to be a threat to someone's life for at least 6 months.

Rob is already preparing his speech -- DON'T GIVE UP, KEEP FIGHTING -- for when I end up thrown out of residency. I know I'm going to get thrown out because I'm a self fulfilling prophecy. Oh? You want me to work 18+ hour days? The law references that, at most, I should be working 15 hours and if I do in fact work a 15 hour shift I am not allowed to be on call the next day. What? You're putting me on call anyway? LOLOLOL. I'm not going to be another resident who's pushed to the brink by insane medical schools and training facilities that decide they can slip under the law and get away with it. Yeah, you may lose your accreditation, bitch, and I may lose my chance at being a doctor but fuck you if you think I'm going to let you drag me through the mud because you think you can get away with it.

Medical education and residency training need to be reformed, badly. I wish current residents weren't so afraid of speaking against it. Of just saying NO. But, when you have 300,000+ in loans looming over your head like a guillotine I ... sort of understand. Fuck the 300,000+ I would've accumulated by then. I'll fight it and I'll take out another 300,000+ and burn that money in front of the administration's faces. I am not afraid of your bureaucratic bullshit. Residents undergo abuse and violation of basic rights -- and patients deserve to have well rested and decently functioning doctors.

Excuse my poorly worded sentences -- I'm currently fighting off a migraine and the urge to pass out in front of my mac book pro.

I was reflecting this morning on my sister's death -- well, more accurately -- on the incessant need for people to constantly ask how I am holding up and how I'm feeling about it. I don't know what to really say besides "these things happen" and "there's nothing to really do but deal with it" and I realize in those moments that I just deal with death the same way -- whether it's a death that happens in my world or someone else's. My attitude for death is the same across the spectrum and while I realize that people are attempting to be there for me -- I find these expressions of concern and solidarity awkward. Death is such a personal experience; it's a profound thing, really.

Ugh, I'm annoyed. I hate work, immensely, and whenever I am sick/dying of a migraine I manage to pull myself out of the apartment and just go to work BUT FOR SOME REASON people are driving me insane and want me to cover for them 24/7 when I'm already always exhausted and strapped for time everywhere; I'm barely finding the time to keep up with my three month thyroid check ups -- let alone keeping appointments I've made months ahead of time because someone parties too hard and decides that oh, they can't come in. I'm just tired. I had the middle shift but, NOW, I'm going to work a double and considering what time I'd have to get up to go in and cover this person ... I am not going to sleep because it won't be worth it; oh, look, I get OVERTIME AGAIN for the millionth time for the millionth week. I want to be in a coma now, please :/.

I wasn't always this tired because I wasn't always taking care of three kids and studying like crazy for the MCAT and going to prep courses and taking pre-reqs while simultaneously attempting to have some sort of social life. My body feels like it's going to drop dead -- my heart pounds so fast and so hard sometimes and even does an odd THU-THU-THU-THUUUUUUUUUUSPAZZSPAZZSPAZZ-THUMP which I think is a direct result of how exhausted I am ALL THE TIME.

I think it's sad that I'm looking forward to snow on Saturday simply because I'm planning on sleeping all day.

There was a time when I was in D.C. that I was so depressed and unable to control my emotions (because of my thyroid) that -- to alleviate this sense of I'M A HORRIBLE PERSON I'M AN ASSHOLE OMG WHY IS THIS UPSETTING ME SO MUCH I WANT TO CRY EVERY FIVE SECONDS I WANT TO CLAW MY SKIN AND RIP MY EYES OUT I WANT TO HIDE IN A CLOSET -- I took refuge in going out and about by myself. I didn't know the area too well so I stuck to the basics: Dupont Circle and Chinablock. It was on one of these outings by myself, on a random bus, that I met this woman. I've been thinking about this woman a lot lately.

I don't remember her name or anything of value. We did exchange numbers and our acquaintanceship happened so fast. She had asked me for directions somewhere and I didn't know because, I sheepishly admitted, I'm from New York and not from around here. I'm usually intimidated by people in general but this woman was so kind and so warm and so gentle that I was actually excited to have met someone like her. I had heard of these nice people before and I had just begun to think that they were figments of myth.

Her teeth were big and white and her hair was so black it almost resembled a darkish purple. Her skin was like copper. We went out for dinner that day, together, because we figured what the hell. She was new to the area too and she was looking to make friends.

I figured a friend like her wouldn't be so bad.

And now I randomly miss this woman and I know I'll never run into her again.

I'm surprised at how busy and social I've been lately considering that when my thyroid died and I became the horrifying word FAT I attempted to hide from the world as much as possible. But, you know what? I embraced the word fat. Fat isn't necessarily a bad thing and I'm not a sexual person so I can give two shits if someone isn't sexually attracted to me because I'm fat. I've been testing the waters for a few months now to see if people would attack me for my size (like they used to before I became anorexic/bulimic/ED NOS) and no one has said anything negative. I still feel uncomfortable going out in clothes that actually fit that aren't super loose and long hoodies and baggy sweatpants but ... I'm trying. I try to push the uncomfortable feeling aside but it does get to me. I do think about how my thighs look in those jeans/skinny jeans and I only wear dark, dark jeans or black jeans. I do think about what I look like in a reflective surface and what random people think about what I'm eating. I'm just trying to not resort to the familiar and comfortable place of not eating to be thin -- because I've been taught my entire life that the only time I've mattered or have been worth anything is when I'm thin; and that's fucked up.

I went to the Grey Dog -- a few blocks up from Union Square and the place was hopping. The crowd was very NYU and Williamsburgish and the tables were on top of each other but the selection of music that was playing overhead was amazing. Even though I was literally on top of this black guy with headphones doing some sort of assignment I still found the room to dance around and sing and constantly spill my 5th, 6th, a millionth free refill of hazelnut coffee.

I'm toying with the idea of going to a bar but the last time I walked into one after my stint as a waitress in Manhattan I was hit with all this cigarette smoke and gawked at by every single man in there because I was the only female. It was insanely uncomfortable and I quickly drank my two drinks and ran the hell out.

Lower Manhattan has been breathtaking lately mostly because there's room on the sidewalks. Most of the NYU/New School kids are home for break and I don't have to maneuver around hordes and hordes of constantly drunk/super loud/super obnoxious late teens/early adults at two in the morning when I'm trying to just have my own good time. Granted, I love the drunk college kids -- I frequently give them food I haven't finished and am carrying around (if I haven't stumbled across a homeless person somewhere) but it's just easier for me and less anxiety inducing when they're not around. It kind of reminds me of that time I went to Dupont Circle at one in the morning. THERE WAS NO ROOM ON ANY OF THE SIDEWALKS. EVERYONE WAS DRUNK. MY PHONE WAS DEAD. I USED A DRUNK GUY'S CELL PHONE TO CALL CHRISTY. I fucking ran into the Metro and went back to my dorm door and fell asleep against it. Even though I'm a NYC girl through and through I just can't stand obnoxious, drunk crowds -- and you'd think I'd be used to them by now.

But I'm not. Drunk people are horrifying. Maybe because I've only had bad experiences with drunk people.

After the Grey Dog I was mindlessly walking around Union Square and a drunk guy happened to stumble in to me with his pesto sandwich. This didn't bother me. He immediately looked downwards and took notice of my bulging chest area, haha -- bulging, and started serenading me in what I'm assuming is Italian, followed me around, and did kissing noises. REALLY?! ARE YOU SERIOUS?! I serenaded back with an opera rendition of DICKS DIIIIIIIIIIICKS DICKS and he eventually stopped; holy shit.

I went to the Strand as I almost always do and almost bought a Great Gatsby sweatshirt but thank God I didn't and opted for five works of fiction instead. I stumbled upon the Sweetery Truck and the Cool Haus truck and tried amazing things from both. Brioche with vanilla cream is amazing and the red velvet cookies mashed with peanut butter ice-cream was godly but too much for me to finish!

I didn't want to leave but I had to because I work in the morning. I came back to the apartment and played with the Suz. I worked out a little bit. I read the first two chapters of The Virgin Suicides. After I stopped being a hot and sweaty mess I stopped by my sister's house and spent time with her two dogs. No one just sits there and pets them ever since my sister died so I've kind of taken over that. It's a little tough because dogs are more emotionally dependent than cats but ... I can't just abandon these dogs because I have my dog that sucks up all of my time. I don't like leaving Sparky and Bolt either when it's finally time for me to go back to the apartment.

I should be sleeping but I had to take an Imitrex to prevent a migraine since I actually caught the warning. I have such a stiff neck that it's hard for me to lay down :(.

I have so many shows coming up at the Upright Citizen's Brigade. I have Mamma Mia soon! Murder at the Met is coming up as is Flying Kabaret. I can't believe I've solidly booked myself to do things either on my own/with people I barely know on every weekend coming up until late April.

It's just hard. I feel like I'm time strapped all the time and almost everything feels impossible. I have three kids I have to check in on daily and it does feel like a little much occasionally but it's mostly because I don't know what to do with them. I think I'm doing a decent job, though. I make sure they're fed from Tuesdays-Sundays and I see them/speak to them frequently and I give them tons of freedom and only request that if they go out somewhere and are trying to come home at 2, 3 in the morning to call me so I can just drive there and pick them up -- even if I'm working/have school.

Ugh. I want to sleep but my stiff neck :(.

Kept changing my twitter name but I think I've settled with @stellulae. It pretty much means "little stars".

Tumblr: storybookwitch(.tumblr.com)

Unfortunately, I am never on any messenger type thing but I have no problem giving out my cell phone number. I have unlimited texts~

My Macbook Pro was shipped yesterday. Rob and I were joking that I would somehow end up with two and that he knew I would have him ship the 2nd one to her. It made us laugh for only a little bit and then we were filled with this huge sadness. That hole will always be there. It's only going to feel worse on Christmas when we watch that video. That video is so surreal. I smile because she's smiling and it fills me with so much joy but I simultaneously cry. It's surreal.

I've decided on the two tattoos that are going to symbolize her: cherry blossom petals on my left wrist and a mocking bird on the back of my neck.

I've come to the conclusion that it is what it is -- and that it really changes nothing about my feelings and Rob's feelings and that's that.

I've also come to the conclusion that I simply cannot continuously beat myself up for the thyroid thing. This happens to people and if people refuse to believe what I've been screaming about for years now and if people choose to ignore every single article and medical journal that has been coming to light recently saying the same thing -- then ... I can't do anything.

But I can forgive the medical negligence. I can forgive the person who took my blood work three times and had it analyzed for the wrong thing three times. I can forgive and just ... not let it define me.

I can thank the counseling center for holding out on my psychiatric medication persistence because after much reading and researching into the thyroid thing -- the counseling center did the right thing. Treating the psychiatric symptoms don't make it go away if the disease is still running rampant.

This has affected me a great deal. The way it unfolded, especially. All I can really say is I wish she had more faith in me -- as much as I have in her and, that, I wish she didn't give up on me so easily -- oh, and ... that she listened to what I had to say. Because I had things to say, I did, but I was never given the chance to express them when they would be most powerful. I wish she came with me to the psychiatrist that day because I was so scared and alone.

I can't change that now. I understand this.

It took a lot for me to finally understand that this entire thing was a misunderstanding. I am not a bad person. I didn't rape her. I didn't beat the bloody shit out of her. I was a flawed human being -- just like she is -- and I didn't understand and couldn't conquer a disease that had taken a hold of me.

Oh god. I'm crying. I wanted to write this for days but I couldn't bring myself to do it.

Other than that ... life is okay. I'm excited about my "I am the 99 percent" tattoo. I will always stand by those brave souls because they're right, god damn it.

Time to pamper my face with Origins and take the Suz out!

Remember! I'm always on twitter: revivingmarina.

I think I noticed today the extent that I'll push my own self care to the back-burner. I was struck with a migraine this passed Friday that went away during the late afternoon of today (but I think I'm about to have a rebound headache). Despite all of this: I woke up at five in the morning and entered my daily grind. Corporate stopped by, of course, and I had to run to the bathroom around 1 because I couldn't hold back the urge to vomit anymore -- and it would've sucked if I vomited all over the Lorazepam. Came back from the bathroom and jumped straight into the daily grind again. FINALLY MET NORA WHO THINKS I RUN THE MOST AWESOME PHARMACY ANYWHERE (but that's because we all hit on each other and talk about dicks, dicks, dicks everywhere and frequently advise people coming down with colds to take a shot of vodka or whiskey before bed -- yes, we're some pretty fierce bitches. We're an all female-staffed pharmacy, okay? If we didn't have fun with each other and our patients we'd go crazy). Drank a bottle of gingerale. Drank half a snapple. Dragged myself to the apartment and have tried not to vomit again since. I really don't want to eat either.

The worst part about vomiting in the bathroom at work is the mochaccino. Granted, everything I ate and drank was sitting there in the toilet bowl -- but it was the loss of my chocolate espresso coffee that hurt the most.

My body temperature is all over the place. I complained on twitter about being too cold but now I feel like I'm on fire and want to tear off my skin and muscles so I can feel a little cooler.

Best part of throwing up? Defeated the migraine. Next time this happens I'm skipping all my Fioricet, Imitrex, and Caffeine tablets and just chugging an Ipecac.

You know what? I wasn't worth enough for him to stick around the first time and now -- now -- that I strive every day to be the best I can be I'm worth his time? Fuck off.

Nothing personally against him or anything but I've always been worth much more than that.

So many people are interested in me but I'm not here to speak about that.

I DON'T UNDERSTAND HOW PEOPLE CAN WILLINGLY MAKE A DECISION TO BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF ANOTHER PERSON. I MEAN, FULL ON, BEAT THE SHIT OUT OF THEM. BREAK THEIR BONES, SMASH THEIR NOSES, SLAM THEM INTO WALLS. I feel horrible for battered women. I really, really do. I feel for them. The justice system does not protect them but protects their abusers instead. This isn't fair :(. I don't know what I would do if I ever got into an abusive relationship. I really don't know. I know that I'm a huge fighter. I don't back down from a fight and I'm pretty sure that if anyone ever laid a hand on me like that (and I'm not speaking of like oh no, you lightly shoved my shoulder) but you full on grab me and slam my entire weight into an object -- I'm going to pick up that object and slam it into your face.

I'm not afraid to fight to the death.

I don't know what I would do though. I really don't. I've never been in an abusive relationship. I get to know people before I date them so, in general, I sort of know what I'm getting into when I'm getting into it.

Hearing these women cry on my television because of what their partners did to them ... hurts. It breaks my heart. Women don't deserve this. They're so wonderful and beautiful -- how could anyone ever hurt them like that?

I have a very strong personality. You can't tell me what to do. And, even if you did, I'd take it as a suggestion and just do what I want anyway. That's the way I am. I remember this one man who wanted to date me and was actually putting in the effort to get to know me and then, boom, he said something about my hair -- it wasn't something powerful but it was subtle. Something about how he likes a girl's hair and how come I don't get mine cut like that and the blond streaks in my hair were not suitable and I simply said okay, that's nice, I'll see you tomorrow and I never saw him again because I made sure of it. THE NEXT DAY I DYED MY ENTIRE HEAD BLOND TO SUBCONSCIOUSLY SPITE HIM (my hair, right now, is currently a light reddish brown) because guess what buddy? FUCK YOU. My hair, my color, my style, fuck off.

I'm a very picky person when it comes to people and not many people get to the YOU'RE MY FRIEND area before getting the boot.

I'm very dramatic when I'm upset. I really am. I say dramatic statements and I do displays of drama (like drawing dicks on a bathroom mirror in someone's favorite lipstick or tying all of my clothes on a pole outside >_> ....) but I am relatively calm when someone hits the shit out of me. I remember when I was assaulted with full on trashbags and I remained perfectly calm, lol. It didn't anger me or anything. It kind of hurt. It kind of smelled. It was wet and slimey. And I just stood there because well, who did it to me, ... there's really nothing I could do but take it. The person continued by throwing hot water at me and I simply dropped to the floor and started to clean up the mess. It was what it was. I didn't like what happened and, when this person calmed down, they apologized -- but, to me, it really wasn't something to apologize for. I know this person is sick. I know they're trying to figure this sickness out. I wouldn't have been hurt if the trashbag didn't full on break on me. I know that the medicine for this sickness sometimes makes it worse because it takes a while for a person to adjust. That's okay.

I can't stand abuse D:.

I always go after people who are too harsh on their women. Always. I can't sit back and watch this stupid shit happen to people. To wonderful, gorgeous people.

I hate when Angie asks me questions about Andy. If he ever cared. If he ever appreciated her. Did he abuse her. It's scary, to me, to be put in that position because it's Angie and I refuse to lie to Angie for the sake of sparing her feelings. I love and adore Angie so much that she deserves the truth. The hard truth. Yes, Andy did abuse her and I will NEVER forgive him for it. He abused me too -- Angie sheepishly admits this -- but Angie wishes she reacted like I did. I fought back. I didn't take it. I REFUSED TO TAKE IT. Angie blames herself but it's not her fault :(. Andy's just an asshole who ended up turning into his father. What can you do, really? Let it go and live.

Angie asked me if she thinks things between him and herself could ever be fixed. I said that they could be but they probably would never be fixed. She asked me why. Because Andy refuses to grow from his mistakes. To learn. To accept. TO APOLOGIZE. Andy is still the same Andy from years ago and ... that's why it'll never be fixed between the two of them. He's still a pig.

I tried giving him a chance in 2009. I figured what the hell, everyone is giving everyone else chances so why the fuck not. OH MY GOD. I'm older now so I'm better at biting my tongue but holy shit. When he brought up how he wanted to always fuck the shit out of me all those years ago ... I simply right clicked his screen name and blocked him. Please. GET THE FUCK OUT OF HERE WITH THAT SHIT, BRO. I don't fuck abusive losers.

Anyway. I ORDERED THE CUTEST HOODIES. I am especially excited about my owl hoodie because it is beyond SUPER KAWAII.

I need to stop looking like a retarded gazelle when I walk in heels.

I don't know what I'm going to do about all of these people that are interested in me. I will never understand this. YOU DON'T KNOW ME WHY DO YOU LIKE ME UGH REALLY PLEASE STOP. I don't know if I quite believe in love but I do love. I do. I know I love. But, well, let's just say that I learned -- the hard way -- how much love fucking HURTS because well, IT'S LOVE IT'S GOING TO HURT, lol. I can hurt myself in other ways thank you very much.

I just don't want a relationship. I'm so ambivalent that, two days later, I'd want out of it. I can't. I can't. I don't want that LET'S GO SKIPPING DOWN THE STREET TOGETHER AND GIGGLE AND MAKE LOVE ALL NIGHT IN THE TRUNK. I've had that. I loved it. I cherish those memories. I don't want that with ... other people ... because no one deserves to be that but --

Psh.

WHY CAN'T PEOPLE JUST HAVE NO STRINGS ATTACHED SEX?! God damn. I'd like to have sex with EVERYBODY. LIKE A SQUID. WHY AM I NOT A SQUID?!

One day, one day ... I will dress all slutty and hit up various bars ESPECIALLY the Henrietta Hudson and I will go home with a woman or a man or both and not give a fuck. That's on my list of things to eventually do. As are the following:

Spend an entire weekend drinking and having sex.
Spend an entire weekend in my underwear at a dance party.
Dance more often.
Go to a cuddle party and try to not have sex.
Go to the biggest rooftop bar in NYC.
Sleep over Tomas' more often.
Wear more bold make up. I'm already toying with neon pigments but I want to go bolder.
Get more tattoos from Johnny in Sunnyside.
Get my clit pierced.
Get thinner. I don't think I'll ever be thin, though. I've always been curvy like Christina Hendricks which isn't bad but not what I prefer for myself.
FIX THE TIP OF MY NOSE. I have the money. Well, the money was for a 3 month trip to Japan but my nose is more important. Japan has to wait for the greatness of my ass.
Conquer Nightmare NYC.
Sleep over Dan's house.
Kiss Darlene on her shoulder more often.
Let Laila know she's breathtaking more often.
Take my AdelineAdeline bike for a ride in that little town 40 minutes away from NYC.
Go on a hot air balloon ride.

There's more. There's always more. The things I want to do never stops :P.

I'm tired of NYU hassling me to register for these classes and to go to some film screening.
AMERICAN IS SERIOUSLY PISSING ME OFF AND I FUCKING REFUSE TO GO DOWN TO DC TO TAKE CARE OF THIS STUPID CRAP BECAUSE OMG DC WILL BE THE DEATH OF ME. I DON'T WANT TO, I DON'T WANT TO, I DON'T WANT TO -- I'LL HAVE A PANIC ATTACK FROM THE MOMENT I SEE CAMPUS ON THE HORIZON.
I can't believe how many panicked phone calls and text messages I got on Saturday "ARE YOU AT THE BROOKLYN BRIDGE MARCH?!" thankfully, no, I wasn't -- but I would've been if I hadn't gotten distracted by Jessica and SLUTWALK NYC.
The lectures I heard because I keep going to #occupywallstnyc even though it's getting more and more "dangerous".
I'm going to go shopping now so I can have a pretty sign at #occupywallstnyc and I might cook for the 200 that are sleeping over there. I might. It seriously depends on how much $$ I have but, more so, on how tired I'm going to be after another 50 hour work week, woo. It'd be easier to just buy them a whole bunch of vegan pizza for the people at #wallstreetafterdark which, by the way, is the coolest thing ever but I'm always on the quiet half of Liberty Plaza watching everyone else dance and sing on the loud side.

Nothing irritates me more than a blind faith in America. People have asked me left and right why I keep going to #occupywallstreetnyc and why I've spent a night sleeping on a blanket in Liberty Plaza and why I keep risking my safety by going on the marches. The short answer is because AMERICA SUCKS AND NEEDS TO CHANGE. It needed to change years ago but we were all too fucking blinded by the myth of an American Dream to do anything about it. There is no American Dream. George Carlin, when he was alive, said it best -- "it's called the American Dream because you have to be asleep to believe it" and yes, I am luckier than most in this country -- I am -- but the moment any citizen of a country settles down for second best instead of always striving for that country to be better ... they've already lost. There are people who played by all of the rules of this capitalist game and have still lost everything. How is that fair? And how is it fair that the people born with nothing will never get the chance to achieve something? To shoot for something? We are all slaves in a capitalistic system where we strive for houses and objects and labels and clothes to make us happy (I am guilty of this) but it doesn't mean shit -- it will never mean shit -- and I have this freaky obsession with time and it's suffocating, almost, knowing how many years of my life has been and will be wasted on this capitalistic game and how I DON'T WANT ANY PART OF IT BUT HAVE BEEN FORCED INTO THE SYSTEM -- how else would I have a fighting chance at anything if I didn't take huge monetary risks and weigh my shoulders down with thousands and thousands of dollars in debt for A CHANCE AT AN EDUCATION -- an education that many have been convinced is our only fighting chance for something. It isn't fair, it will never be fair, and I will not stop going to these occupy wallstreet protests and I will not stop going to Liberty Plaza and I don't care that in the last march that I was a part of some white shirted cop slammed the rolled up orange net into my back and I don't care that in the last march I was part of they tried to trap us on the crosswalk of Elizabeth Street and I grabbed a crying girl and ran to the left with her. I don't care. I will fight. I will fight no matter what I lose because what's worse than my fate in this fight is the fate that waits for me if I don't fight; if millions of us don't fight. NOTHING WORSE AWAITS US THAN THE FATE WE RESIGN TO IF WE ALLOW THIS TO KEEP HAPPENING TO OURSELVES. Fight. Fight, god damn it. IT IS YOUR HUMAN RIGHT TO FIGHT FOR SOMETHING BETTER.

I will not stop. I will not give up. I am the 99 percent.

That story about the Howard Beach lady who shot her abusive husband? I am not a fan with how the media is portraying her at all. Thank God she shot him. Howard Beach lady would've ended up like Tina. Does anyone remember Tina -- because sometimes I feel like I'm the only one.

I've been on twitter a lot. @revivingmarina
It's a Little Mermaid reference.

I've been avoiding dreamwidth because of the thoughts swirling around in my head but even if I don't actively reference them ... I can't get away from them. I had a nightmare or dream, I suppose, depending on how you look at it. My thyroid became so underactive that amidst all my going crazy and not having a lot of energy to really move -- I fell into a coma and, eventually, died. Someone called the hospital that I was at and asked all sorts of questions about thyroid malfunctions because they couldn't believe that an underactive thyroid can do all of those things. The desk nurse used a metaphor that I'll never forget: "it's like being trapped in a glass box that's filled with water. All control is taken away from you. Your destiny is not yours anymore". The scenery of the dream changed then. I was floating around in the morgue -- excited that I didn't have to deal with these thoughts anymore, feel this guilt anymore, feel this pain anymore and I was surrounded by so much love: Owen, Frankie, Amanda, Kevin, Collin (and everyone else ♥) ... and, suddenly, I was torn. I realized what it meant to be floating around like this. I'd never feel the wind again or the way my skin feels during a rainstorm or everyone I've ever met that's still down there on this planet. And, despite every fucked up feeling and every wonderful soul that I was surrounded by, I chose to come back to this place -- to live -- and to never forget what the wind feels like dancing through my hair.

Upon waking up I decided to read Darlene's birthday card and birthday gift. She got me the most beautiful kokeshi. I cried. Her birthday card made me cry harder:

Dear Ria :),

I know this is supposed to be a birthday but I'm giving you a thank you card since I'm really thankful to have met you. You're so nice and you changed my perception towards NY. The token is not so much but I hope you like it. I hope the best for you ... happiness and whatever there is because you deserve it. Happy late birthday!

-Darlene.

I am so scared I'm going to mess this friendship up. I am so, so scared. I try my best to take care of her at work and I try really hard to encourage her and make her believe there's nothing wrong with her outside of work. But, I don't talk much in the verbal aspect. I don't know what I'm going to do because silence can only do so much ... even though I don't shut the hell up in text messages. I'm worried. I've lost people before because of how quiet I am verbally. It's not that I don't have a lot to say: I do. I just express it through the written word while everyone else speaks it.

There are more and more articles coming out about the thyroid and the psychiatric problems an ailing thyroid causes; and how getting that under control is more important than treating the psychiatric symptoms. I don't know how I quite feel about all of this coming to light as hard and as often as it's been doing lately. I feel liberated yet, at the same time, really hurt. It wasn't an excuse. It was reality at that time -- a very hurtful and torturous reality. I am not my thyroid. And, if I was my thyroid, you can bet your ass that I wouldn't have put my body, my mind, my emotions, and myself through any of that tumultuous, torturous, hurtful for no logical reason -- out of nowhere -- taking the air out of your lungs bullshit.

I'm getting a migraine and my ear still hurts. I trashed the entire apartment this morning (threw stuff everywhere and anywhere) because I was looking for my social security card. I didn't find it but I found a copy of it. What? It didn't matter though because I didn't end up needing it.

I stood in a line for a million hours. It was extremely cold and the walls were lavender. I was questioned why it took me 20 days to hand over the information (after the deadline). I didn't tell them what really happened. I simply told them I sent it out and it was never received so I came here on my first day off. The administration seemed to buy it. Took my information. Gave me a receipt that my information was received and was told that I wouldn't have to worry about ... certain things. Who really knows, though. Whatever will be will be. I keep telling myself that. Don't fight the current. Just go with it.

Walked around Manhattan for a little bit since I was already there. Started feeling sick because I didn't eat yet. Decided to get a burrito and could only stomach about half of it. I went back to the apartment and fell asleep for 3 hours. I woke up and ate the rest of my burrito and went in to work specifically to clean the entire Pharmacy. I walked in with this green duster kind of glove and a yellow rubber glove and was called cute by all the girls there. A lot of girls find me cute/adorable. I don't understand this, really, and was quite embarrassed by these girls' affirmations of my cuteness that I just kept thanking them awkwardly and running away.

I was asked recently why I don't like dating. Dating makes me feel like I'm scoping out furniture for my apartment. It's so hard for me to connect with a person over a dinner and a movie or what the fuck ever and I don't do any of that kissing on the first date thing. Dating makes me nervous. Like I'm expected to perform and sell myself to the person sitting across from me -- like I'm wearing neon signs that flash DATE ME DATE ME all over my forehead. I don't want that. Even when I was in relationships ... date-like things always made me feel uncomfortable and awkward.

This is sort of coming up because, recently -- at work, a man specifically stood on my long line just to ask me out to dinner and I turned him down. It was nothing against him or anything. I'm just uncomfortable in those situations. An older woman did the same thing, too, a few days after him.

I've done a lot of thinking about a lot of things and I've concluded that I'm going to die an adorable/cute old maid.

Twitter is fucking stupid, seriously. My anger stems from one of the Trending Topics of today. #reasonstobeatyourgirlfriend. Seriously? The worst part of it was when people would get mad at people who were against it by basically saying things like "lol, guys, it's a joke". So, yes, violence is apparently very funny. It's okay, though. There's a counter movement. #reasonstoloveyourgirlfriend and a petition going around to remove the violent trending topic.

I didn't take my test on Saturday because I woke up at 4 am, out of nowhere, with THROBBING, STABBING EAR PAIN. I went to the doctor and was put on some antibiotics. I should be okay, I hope.

Missing the test isn't that big of a deal because they're still administering that test throughout August and September. My sister wasn't too happy about me missing it but I had to ... I took a test with a throbbing migraine and realized what a mistake that was. I wasn't taking this test with throbbing ear pain.

I have a study buddy now for this exam. Yay :).

I checked my email and had an email from Kris. I opened it and it was some WoW picture. I shrugged at it and decided that I should text him and ask him what it is. Well, apparently, it's a picture from a million years ago when he roped me into playing with him (how it would be such a good way to spend time together, LMAO) and well, I don't think my response made him happy at all because I basically said oh, okay. He rebutted with a "I thought you would like it" and I said that I really don't remember much of my time on WoW (which is a fib because I definitely remember the TORTURE HE PUT ME THROUGH WITH HIS FRIENDS) and stopped the conversation there.

I try to remain kind because I'm not a fan of permanently burning bridges and permanently shutting doors. I think that's pretty trashy, actually. But I'm SO TORN about this. I feel like screaming WHERE WAS OUR FRIENDSHIP YEARS AGO WHEN IT MATTERED?! over and over again at him ... because I fought so hard to be friends after our relationship crumbled. I had known him for years but ... our friendship went out the window, too, because that's how he wanted it to be and, therefore, that's how it had to be. As if my terms of negotiation and what I wanted and what I felt like was best didn't matter.

My point is this: you can't just waltz into my life and pretend as if nothing ever happened. I don't mind hurtful crap. Hurt happens. But I have to get comfortable again. Get to know you all over again. I DON'T JUST PICK UP WHERE IT WAS LEFT -- like our lives were separated by some natural disaster or something. I WAS THROWN OUT OF A LIFE without my consent ... give me some time to figure it out, lol.

My ear still fucking hurts.

I don't know if I got sick because of Friday. On Thursday night I decided to throw my studying plans for Friday out the window and go see Angie anyway since I haven't seen her in so long. The weather looked like shit in the morning but I figured that it would be okay. The day went the way it usually goes with Angie and I. Continuous talking. Rummaging through book stores. Sitting in a coffee shop. Shopping for cheap jewelry and cute clothes. Having an obligatory Chipotle burrito. Angie has been complaining of migraines, anxiety, and tension headaches lately and since I have SO MANY BOTTLES of my medication for those things ... I handed full bottles over of Fioricet, Imitrex, and Xanax. I looked at what she was currently on and told her to wait for the Fioricet until she was done with her antibiotic and painkiller. I explained how to take everything and made sure she understood. I'm pretty sure the people in Chipotle thought we were prescription drug dealers, lol.

She took an Imitrex right there because she felt an oncoming migraine and I advised her to go home and get some sleep because I'd see her again anyway and she needs to feel well for herself, most importantly. She reluctantly went home, lol. I had taken an Imitrex earlier myself and felt the migraine coming and going in waves. I didn't get one. Thank god. BUT I GOT CAUGHT IN THIS SUPER TYPHOON LIKE RAIN. I ran through it. The rain felt cathartic. I was soaked to my underwear but I couldn't stop laughing while running through the heavy rain. It felt good, exciting -- like a rebirth. That's probably why I caught that horrible infection to begin with. If I had known I was going to miss my exam because of illness I would've gone to The Room showing at midnight.

It's on days like today where it hits me. I really miss my Grandmother and, when I think about it, bitterly realize that my Grandmother was my mother. Not in biological terms but emotional ones. She would always go out of her way for George and I -- and we were the only two who could not keep it together when we saw her laying down in her coffin. We both ran out. We both broke down crying. We didn't know who the majority of the people there were and I don't think we cared to know at that time. George was stronger than me, though. He went to the burial. He went to those dinners afterward and every other religious ceremony that revolved around my grandmother since her death. Myself? I don't go to any of those things. I can't even listen to anyone speak about my grandmother without getting this intense shot to the heart. I don't go to her grave. I don't go to her apartment that I legally own. I try to block out my last memories of her. I really do. The last time she held my hand with any sort of strength was in the emergency room -- two weeks before she died. Everyone else wasn't available and even though I was so scared and so upset by what she was telling me and her crying ... I stayed by her side and comforted her. Lied to her face. She kept telling me that she was going to die and she couldn't stop crying because she didn't want to leave this life. I told her to stop being silly because she had many more years to live and she wasn't going to die in this place; not like this.

But she did. She died alone in that place two weeks later.

I don't know how to talk about these things. How to bring them up to people. And why would people want to hear this shit anyway? Everyone has their own burdens. Everyone. I just prefer to not willingly unload my burdens onto other people. Besides, it was inevitable and hard and scary -- no one could've made it any better or made it go away. I deal with my Grandmother's death one day at a time and the only person I'll talk about her with is George. There's an inherent understanding there. We know what lines not to cross and we always joke that if Child Protective Services were ever called on us ... we would've been taken into protective custody so fast. We both agree that, even with all of that, our Grandma was a kind hearted, amazing woman -- and I'm hoping that her next life will be a whole lot better than this one. She suffered too much in this life. Way, way too much.

I am such a flake! I keep forgetting the little things and then actively losing the important things -- such as an active birth control pill. The birth control thing isn't that big of a deal because I don't have sex ever but, you know, STILL. I'm already having a super irregular cycle of 34 days ... :(. Then, I find out 9 days after the fact, that I was supposed to send out my health insurance renewal application. I'm lucky I even remember to take my thyroid pill every morning but that's made obvious because I physically feel sick, can't move, and my thyroid pounds if I don't take it. I took two pills once (I thought I forgot to take it) and the rush I felt ... I thought my head was going to explode from all the blood rushing everywhere and I was sweating like I was in a sauna but it was the dead of winter. I try as hard as I can to remember that I took my 137mcgs and if I think I forgot ... I just won't take it until the next morning because of that one time, lol.

I was supposed to study today but I ended up napping after work. Woke up with a minute left to take my birth control pill. Rushed with popping it out of the pack and lost it. I spent an hour ripping the entire area apart to find it with no luck. Took the next one in my pack. I'm down to five active (when there's supposed to be 6) with four brown pills. I'm just going to pray my cycle ... doesn't distort any further.

It can't be as irregular as when my thyroid was super underactive and making me crazy ... when I would miss my period for 2 to 3 months at a time and then be SUPER IRREGULAR. I used to have no problems with my period until that time period too. Always came like clockwork.

I'm having a really bad week. :(. At least I haven't had a migraine ... yet.

I woke up this morning and, after I showered, I grabbed my favorite towel only to discover a centipede hiding in it. I ran out of the bathroom, naked, and through the rest of the apartment screaming and crying. I recovered and took a cab to the Starbucks near work and grabbed lattes for myself and everyone else only to discover that I left my keys in the back of the cab. Wtf, Ria. Seriously. WTF.

I took some more practice tests and, for the most part, am doing pretty okay. I hope that I do well on Saturday. I'm going over the kind of mistakes I make and, more importantly, tackling the thought pattern that leads to those mistakes so I can avoid them as much as humanly possible on Saturday morning. I don't exactly know if it's going to work but I may as well try. Actively changing the way I naturally think to think the way I'm being told to think is a hard thing. Things that I would consider to be the best option sometimes aren't but I think that's just my personality and temperament pushing through. A lot of the questions have to do with what is the BEST and, or MOST APPROPRIATE WAY to handle this situation between a client and yourself and, for the most part, my temperament picks the right answer but ... what I do get wrong and when I do get it wrong is when I come down to two answers and I pick what I consider to be the kinder, more understanding one -- but that's not always right, apparently. Blargh.

I'll be okay. I have to keep thinking that. I'll take my two Xanax like I did the morning of my other test to prevent that feeling of panic that naturally comes over me when I stumble upon something I don't know and, or don't quite understand. The Xanax actually helps in those situations. It's helped in other situations, too, with my social anxiety ...

My brother had a daughter recently and my family kept pushing me to visit the baby while she was in the hospital. I didn't want to. There's a lot of resentment I hold towards my brother. It's weird. He used to always be in my life when I was younger and, out of nowhere, he disappeared. Forgot my birthdays. Forgot about my existence. There are two toys from my childhood that I refuse to part from; that I refuse to donate: the Aladdin monkey my father bought me on that summer day before I didn't see him for years and the Molly doll -- with the black yarn hair and that red-red nose -- from this TV show that I still watch if I catch it on children's TV. My brother got me that Molly doll on the last birthday of mine in which he remembered. My mom is right about one thing about me. She really is. Once you've really hurt me ... I withdraw and am too afraid to approach the person who hurt me. It's not that I have anything against them. I'm just convinced I don't matter to them so I don't try because if, let's say, I put my heart out there and admitted to them how much they mean to me ... and then I get shut down anyway ... it's going to HURT SO MUCH MORE than if I stay in the position I'm in now ... which is nonexistent in their constantly moving forward lives.

I'm not afraid of silence. I'm afraid of what people will say to me if they actually choose to open their mouths. What words will come out?

The most hurtful of words is not what's said in moments of anger and not thinking. It's the words that are said in those ordinary moments, with those ordinary feelings -- those words that come out when you're both sipping a cup of your favorite drinks -- those words that have always been there but were dormant until that very moment ...

And you're never the same again.

I'm hungry :(.

I've been saving up money for my cherry blossom petals tattoo on my right wrist and my Texas (the state) tattoo that I haven't figured out where to place yet. In a very indirect way ... Texas has been a very important place in my life.

I've been writing another story. I always write stories but that's not the point. This is something new to me. I don't normally like writing in the first person perspective (I heavily prefer third person and, surprisingly, second person. I love the second person perspective ...) but, for this story, I feel like it would be more effective if told from a first person's sort of view.

I draw from certain things that happened in my life but, most importantly, I've been toying the idea of WHAT IF. Depression plays a key role in this story and I want to show without any sugarcoating how devastating depression is for the person going through it directly. Too often we hear about the spouses, the friends, the boyfriends, the girlfriends, the spectators from the sidelines essentially ... but we never hear from the person suffering directly; we're always presented with misinformation, ill-informed conclusions that do nothing more than alienate the person directly suffering with this illness.

It's time, I think.

Okay. I seriously need to pay for my items from Kate Spade. When I finally drop to a size 4 I'm going to be buying clothes from there like crazy. I could do better things with my extra money such as saving it but ... what the fuck ... you only live once.

I am beyond fatigued. I don't know if it was the combination of studying and working last week or wtf ... but I AM SO FUCKING TIRED. So tired that I refused to go over any of the old exams I managed to get my hands on for Tuesday (besides the one I took and did pretty well on yesterday while the boys were watching Transformers and screaming). I think I'm going to be taking the test on Saturday, at the Brooklyn location, because the 4-5 train is RIGHT THERE and it'll give me plenty of time to take and go over all the old exams that are in my possession. I don't know if I'm going to be awake enough tomorrow considering I work 11 hours but ... I hope I can at least plow through 2 and use the majority of Tuesday to rip through the other ones. I'd ask for off this week but it's sort of a short notice and I don't want to impose on anyone. Or I could do the illogical thing and just go on Tuesday anyway, to the Chinatown location, get there at 11ish and actually start the line as opposed to being the cut off point like I was on Friday.

I don't know, I don't know, I don't know but I'll end up deciding on impulse like I always do because that's just the way that I am.

I wish I wasn't so tired. I don't like this feeling. At least my migraine FINALLY WENT THE FUCK AWAY TODAY oh my god ... that probably explains the super fatigue I'm feeling.

I need a permanent vacation from life.

I took my test and I passed. I made it on to the waiting list but was informed that call backs wouldn't be happening for at least 6 months. Nothing that I studied was on the test. It was more of an aptitude kind of thing. I can't really describe it. Even with all of that and a pounding migraine and NO AC WHATSOEVER IN THE TESTING ROOM I passed with an 80/100. I wanted it to be better. I finished with A LOT of time left but I decided to not go over the exam because I really didn't know which questions I got wrong ... so I hit I'm finished on the computer screen and took my chances. I kept biting my lip and scrunching up my nose. The moment I saw that my number was above 70 I jumped out of my seat.

There are some questions I did have issues with. Cultural issues. Aspie issues.

I have another one of these tests on Tuesday but I'm thinking about moving it to Saturday. I took a practice exam yesterday and only got 5 wrong ... but again I HAD ISSUES especially with the Aspie stuff because it asked a lot about eye contact and, to me, eye contact is a negative thing. Rob and George explained to me that eye contact makes people feel like you're interested and paying attention but, to me, eye contact makes me feel like I'm under attack, under scrutiny, and very uncomfortable which is why I picked the wrong answer ... lol.

I'm seeing Angie this Friday and we're going to museums. It should be a nice change of pace for her considering how hard Billy's Dad dying is on her. Angie's very sensitive like I am to these kinds of things -- especially to the people that mean the most to us -- and it hurts that there's nothing we can ever do to stop it. I'm going to try and take Angie's mind off of it as much as possible and if she happens to speak about it -- I'll listen.

I've always been the kind of person that won't speak about hard topics like death. You can't make death better with words. I've always preferred to wait around for the person going through it to bring it up first and just listen. I never really know what to say anyway.

I woke up at 5:30 in the morning to finish studying because I was under the impression that my exam was at 9:30 in the morning. I still had a migraine even though I took all of my medicine before I went to bed. I wasn't too happy but I took more of my medicine anyway and, to preemptively stop the zombie feeling from occurring, went to Starbucks and got a Cinnamon Dolce Latte. I checked the email notification of the open exam and discovered that the exam isn't until 1:30 in the afternoon. I contemplated going back to sleep but decided to finish studying anyway. I ran for 30 minutes on the treadmill and took my dog out for a walk. She barely went down a block before turning herself around and walking herself home, lol.

I figured I'm going to be more fatigued if I fall asleep and wake up again at 10:30 as opposed to my original 1:45 in the morning until 5:30 in the morning sleep schedule. I don't feel too fatigued and my migraine is slowly dissipating. I've strapped an open bag of frozen peas to the side of my head to speed up the process because what fucks me up more than little to no sleep is a migraine. I can never concentrate with one of those things.

While running on the treadmill I was thinking about my fiery disposition and how it's a turn on to most men but a complete and utter turn off to most women. Double standards, much? I think women are easily scared by overt displays of anger -- even if it's in verbal confrontational means -- because they may worry that it's a red flag to an abuser (you know, the classic signs, short tempers -- etc, etc, etc). The way I know for sure that someone isn't entirely good news is how they treat animals and people they don't know. Everyone tells me that I am totally too kind but I digress. Yes, I am kind but I don't let people walk all over me. I tend to not really stand up for myself unless I feel like I absolutely have to and, yes, I have a tendency to be verbally confrontational when I get to that point. I've gotten to that point a few times in the passed year -- the most recent one I can think of is Scott.

Scott never met me directly but I'm pretty sure he's seen me around. He was going through my friend's cell phone -- and decided to text me with a "go kill yourself fat pig". I figured it wasn't my friend because he would never disrespect me like that so I didn't respond. I called my friend the next day and asked if he was ever away from his phone. He said he was and questioned why I was asking him. I told him that it was nothing to worry about.

Fast forward to a month later and I get a text message from a number I don't know that basically said the same thing but with more ... oomph. More intent to hurt my feelings. What people don't understand is that, in situations like that, I find them to be an open invitation to fight and, yes, I took that invitation with open arms. There are certain situations where I'll decline that invitation and that's only when someone I care for dearly would be affected by me defending myself; so I ignore it and move on.

But not this time. Scott seriously needed to learn a thing or two about women and respect. I knew certain things about Scott that I heard around and I immediately attacked him. I said that his opinion about me didn't matter considering it was coming from an unambitious prick who'd rather be high all the time then do something worthwhile with his time and, if he continues to go down this road, he'd end up homeless and no one would give two fucks about his wellbeing because of how cruel and bully-like he is. I told him that I felt sorry for him. He immediately went into the "fat bitch Imma fuck you up, Imma fuck you up" and I dared him to try because if he even as much looked at me in the wrong way I wouldn't hesitate to defend myself in whatever way I see fit. I spammed him so much that he stopped responding.

Fast forward to 3 months later and I found out that he is indeed homeless and no one gives a fuck. I told the source that I felt sorry for him and that if I ever saw him then, yes, I'd help him but I wouldn't hesitate to defend myself if he opened his smart ass mouth and a smart ass comment came out of it. I hope that things get better for him but I seriously doubt it. I hope he finds a way out of it because, once you're homeless, it's very hard to get out of it.

This sunscreen is making my skin burn.

I just wish women weren't scared of fieriness. My fieriness, specifically. I'm not going to hurt anyone except the people who try to hurt us and, even then, I'd keep in mind certain lines to not cross. Remain respectful as much as humanly possible :) even if I don't feel like being respectful in that situation. I feel like that, in arguments with strangers even, people can learn a lot about boundaries, respect, and compromise especially if they stick to it until the cool down point. I've had several confrontations like that too and I always find those to be the best ones -- some of my older friends have come out of those kinds of confrontations :). Of course, there's a golden rule in confrontations: if you ever feel like you're going to lose control or you're getting too upset WALK THE FUCK AWAY OR SOMEHOW MAKE THE OTHER PERSON WALK AWAY to give you a few minutes of peace. It happens. We're people. We have a nervous system that's designed to fight or flight and, sometimes, the adrenaline from a confrontation pushes you into fight mode. There's no denying that. The important thing? Recognize it. Acknowledge it. Don't act on it. There are no excuses to be a shitty person if you're able-bodied, able-minded and not plagued by any sort of uncontrollable ailments like a mood disorder.

I use different standards for uncontrollable ailments. Especially if I'm on the receiving end of someone's mood disorder (mood disorder is only an example -- there are other uncontrollable ailments too -- like secondary irritability that's present because of an uncontrollable ailment, etc, etc, etc); I try to remain as calm and as kind as possible and I'll walk away if I see it getting to a really bad point. I don't hold it against the person either and, when they apologize, I tell them that it's okay and ask about the hard day they must've had. I find out SO MUCH MORE that way and the outbursts that I'm on the receiving end of happen less and less frequently because I try to understand and actually accommodate the disorder. I keep in mind that the person is not their disorder and it's all good :). I've gained a lot of friends in this way.

Sometimes, though, you have to take the first step for people to get the help they need. Especially if they're too scared to do it on their own. I've done this for a friend once. I was scared of her reaction so I approached her calmly and said that I've already called therapists (I explained symptoms and the like) and how they were very willing to listen to her story, to her feelings. I told her which therapists I thought would be best for her. I explained to her that the only reason why I did this is because of how hurt she always is after her disorder runs rampant and does what it does which always results with her being isolated and upset. That wasn't fair at all. She's a human being with a golden heart -- she didn't ask for this disorder. I offered to go the first few times and wait in the general vicinity until she felt comfortable enough to take this on alone. She wasn't offended at all and went :). We have this policy where she'll spam me in text messages when her disorder is dominant because I seem to be the only one that is willing to deal with it. I'm not going to lie -- it's hard and sometimes the things she says HURTS SO MUCH I CAN'T BREATHE but once I've navigated her through the labyrinth her disorder shoved her in for the moment she's okay.

That's what people need. I'm convinced. Full-on love.

It's heartbreaking how psychiatrically medicated people are. The prescriptions I fill the most of are: mood disorders, depression, anxiety, panic disorder, and thyroid hormones. I realize thyroid hormones isn't a psychiatric medication but an ailing thyroid, even if it's minuscule in terms of its ailing, causes all sorts of intense psychiatric symptoms.

I'm bored. I don't know what else to do before my exam :(. I can work out more, I suppose, but I'm a lazy butt.

I never even knew it existed until I began studying for the thing I'm studying for. The test is this Friday and I don't feel ready at all because I don't know what the hell I'm SUPPOSED TO STUDY. Anyway, secondary trauma syndrome is pretty much the symptoms of PTSD but you're not the individual directly experiencing the trauma. It sort of helped to put a label on what was happening between myself and my two counselors at American when all I'd do was breakdown, panic, cry, and speak about how helpless and powerless I felt about what I considered to be her trauma and how I couldn't do anything to stop the particular situation I felt like she was stuck in. Woo, woo, woo. Psychopathology all the way.

I'm watching the Pretty Little Liars repeat and I've managed to not over-eat today. Ugh. My life is so boring lately. I never want to study again. Rather, I wouldn't mind studying if I knew what to study as opposed to constantly swimming in a god damn ocean of information and not knowing how much I'd have to know of what.

I don't have a good feeling about Friday, lol.

Do migraines make people forget the things they did and, or the things that happened during the time of the migraine (which can usually last up to 4 days)? A google search would help me answer this but, looking back on the last couple of months, I can't really remember too much from the days that I know I had migraines. I remember fragments of what happened -- like a single moment -- but nothing of great detail. On the night that I had to pull over and throw up on the side of the Van Wyck ... I remember wearing a pink American hoodie, laying down on my stomach, and constantly screaming EEEEEEEEEEEEHHHHHHHHHHH while kicking my legs back and forth. I don't remember who was there with me. I don't remember what we did. I don't remember what I did after that one moment that I remember in the living room and the next moment of being on the side of the Van Wyck. I don't even remember making it home though I obviously made it home. I don't remember the next few days either except that I went to my now primary care CRYING because of the pain and begging for medication.

I remember having a significant increase in migraines within the past couple of months -- in terms of frequency and how long they lasted for when I did get them. I suddenly felt like I was walking around the halls of my high school again with a pounding 4 day migraine and barely concentrating on anything but not dying.

I am less patient when a migraine is starting to brew in my head. I start eating nothing but chocolate (kit kats seem to be the big thing) and my neck gets SO GOD DAMN STIFF I want to burn it but, you know, I can't burn my neck. I'll get random, intense shots of pain that seems like concentrated vein pain ... it's weird ... and sometimes that concentrated vein pain will stop me in my tracks, weaken me, and I feel like I'm going to pass out but I never really do.

Then I'll get more and more sensitive to lights. To sounds. I'll start turning off lights and hiding under covers and pillows to drown everything out. Then, well, the migraine overtakes me and I want to put a million bullets in my brain just to make it stop :(.

The person who's interested in me wants to put me through migraine surgery because it's really getting in the way of a lot of things -- including his potential relationship with me (I haven't been roped in yet ... I don't think so, though. RELATIONSHIPS SUCK, I don't love him at all, and he just does not click with me). I've pulled away and don't even remember exchanges we've had through text messages when I've decided to respond even though my head is in excruciating pain.

I don't think the Fioricet 3 x a day with the Imitrex really helps with the remembering thing because, by the time I get to the second Fioricet, I pass out for hours. Imitrex doesn't help unless I take it during the warning signs of an incoming migraine: less overall patience, kit kat binging, stiff neck, and concentrated cranial vein pain -- if I take it as the migraine full on hits me ... I endure it for 3 to 4 days while popping Fioricet.

I don't know what I can be on for migraine prevention considering that both Topamax and the beta blocker Toprol caused extremely horrible reactions.

RGHHJTD. I was cleaning out my email inbox so I can easily pay attention to Rob's emails. We're collaborating on something so it's important for me to keep up. I found an email from April 23, 2009 ... from her. I didn't even know I had an email before the June 3, 2009 one that was long and detailed like that. I literally stared at it with a what the hell look before opening it and skimming through it. I don't remember reading it. AT ALL. EVER. ... Which saddens me more than it should. A line or two looked familiar to me -- like it was something I had kept in mind during our interactions in May to try and improve on my end of things but I really don't remember actually reading the email :(. I feel like such an ass for missing something extremely important at a time where it was very important. I'm such a flake.

I was studying until I stopped dead in the tracks of studying. I was struck with an idea. I immediately called Rob which led to the back and forth email collaborations. I AM SO EXCITED I'M FUCKING SHAKING. But not that bad panic-attack type of shaking. The good super excited kind with squeals here and there type of shaking.

I found a niche the only existing company hasn't infiltrated yet and I would be appealing to a completely different factor with comfort being a thing that automatically just comes with what I'm offering. I've been trying to find a designer and a sketch artist since then and I have Rob on the hunt too.

I'm literally THIS CLOSE to contacting Brian out of desperation. That's a bad idea, though. Like Rob said -- even if I paid him ... he wouldn't do it.

I really wish Mikaela didn't stop speaking to me during that last week of April 2009 (which is what took up most of my energy and attention during that time) because I was so busy attempting to track her down and figure out what happened to our friendship that I just didn't focus on anything else. Mikaela, come back, make the designs come to life, and I'll try to make you a millionaire if I don't crash and burn or get distracted by some other idea ... and never come back to this one. The whole Mikaela thing really sucked. It really did.

She was my friend. I instantaneously clicked with her. I was observing her and trying to learn how to be a better girlfriend to my then girlfriend. Yes, seriously. We talked ALL THE TIME. One day, seemingly out of nowhere, she cut contact with me cold turkey. I wasn't friends with her on facebook anymore. She defriended me on some journal website. She wouldn't respond to my IMs and my emails. I tried so desperately for 2 months to at least get her to explain what caused her drastic change of heart. I never got any answers and I think that was the worst part of it ... because there's a part of me that will always wonder what I did that caused her to go away that fast and that far without even a second glance.

The only thing I have, in regards to the Mikaela thing, are my own assumptions. If I had to guess I'd say that I probably said something that crossed a line without me noticing that it crossed a line of hers. It's so hard to be aware of people's individual lines when you're not aware of society-established lines and boundaries. IT'S HORRIBLE. We were in the getting-to-know-each-other stages of friendship and I was friends with her for only a month, I think before I fucked it up.

I always fuck everything up. I'm a failure when it comes to human interactions.

I may not have social competency but at least I have my creativity. I may not be remembered by any person but I'll be remembered by the world as a collective, universal whole. It's a bold statement but, for some reason, I'm very sure of it.

I'm taking a study break since I've made it passed exam 3 out of my daily required studying of 7 exams. I'm going to probably plow through more than 7 exams tomorrow night, after work, and wake up early on Tuesday and plow through the 41 pages of definitions. I'm not referencing the MCAT here but something else entirely. Something to kind of make a lot more money for myself while I'm attempting to become a doctor -- since I have to take 2 years of prerequisites anyway; or less since I'm probably going to cram everything into summers as much as possible(and if I fail ... there's always PA school and that would've already been taken care of since I would've taken the pre-reqs for that too. I would prefer doctor though -- 156,000 starting just looks too good for me to pass up ... no matter what).

What I've been studying for today requires a lot of knowledge about child abuse and, whenever I stumbled across the sexual abuse parts, I had to practice my breathing exercises (assigned to me by lovely Natalie -- my therapist) because all of my own memories of past sexual abuses and assaults kept coming up. It made me sick to my stomach, almost, because the effects of those things are so apparent within me today -- but I never speak about these things; except that one time to Brian which was a god damn mistake.

I don't know how I feel about being sexually abused and assaulted through out my childhood, adolescence, and early adulthood. I don't think I have any feelings really but that's impossible because ... because when I think back to, let's say, what Rob did to me ... I get extremely upset and panic and cry. I've only talked to Mikey about my feelings regarding Rob. It's so complex. Like I'm two people, almost. I don't hate him. I hate what he did. I understand, in some way, that what happened was a result of him not knowing what sexual abuse/rape was which is why I confronted him in an email years ago (which caused him to withdraw for a while and then apologize -- his behavior significantly changed which is what made me stay, ultimately) and he's grown from that confrontation. The more I started speaking about rape, sexual abuse, feminist values, and the treatment of women ... the more he began to genuinely listen. It's funny, actually. We're the two people who refuse to go into Hooters because of the fact that they objectify women with those outfits. He hates what women endure every day and has become very protective over me when other men try to disrespect me in those ways. It's like the confused and ill informed Rob from back then doesn't exist today and I keep reminding myself of that. It's been easier to let go of what happened as the years passed -- as I processed and reprocessed the entire experience with different lenses. I eventually came to an understanding that I'm quite comfortable with:

The terms of consent and how those terms of consent differ for a woman as compared to a man needs to be TAUGHT to people. END OF STORY.

It was also easier for me to forgive Rob because he wasn't the most brutal of those experiences. Other people were. Certain family members were. Certain senior boys in high school while I was a freshman were.

I don't want to speak about those experiences though. I know what I went through. Some days those memories are actively floating about in my head and, other days, they're dormant somewhere. I like it better when they're dormant :).

I almost told Rob, yesterday, about the time when we were walking towards the direction of Kinokuniya -- years ago -- and she was in between us. They were talking about something while walking along and I kept looking to my left to look at as much of her profile as I could while we walked. I have this thing of needing to permanently etch important people into memory. At some point during this entire thing I slammed into someone's chest. I immediately freaked and went to look up and move to the side somewhere to get out of this person's way but I couldn't. This made my heart that was already pounding -- pound faster. I don't think I entirely registered what was happening while it was happening. I felt pressure on my back -- like a tight wrap-around almost and a palm pressed against my left breast. I felt a grope. My mouth opened to say something but nothing came out. It seemed like I was stuck against this stranger's chest for forever -- staring at his blue button up shirt and navy blue tie with diagonal white chunks and silver lines. After he let go of me -- I stood there completely dumb struck. I was trying to register WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED. Then, it hit me, like a ton of bricks, and I snapped out of my deer-in-headlights disposition and immediately turned towards the direction he walked to find the guy. Except there were a million people wearing that kind of clothing -- dress up shirt and dress up pants -- walking in the same direction.

I remember being so angry that I would've physically lunged at the man from behind. That was my plan. That's why I turned around to begin with. To attack him for doing what he did. But I couldn't figure out who was who in the crowd and, instead, turned around -- spotted her and her lovely pony tail -- and ran up to her instead and remained silent.

And, yesterday, Rob and I were walking down that same street -- and I felt the words slowly slipping out of my mouth: HEY ROB THIS IS THE STREET WHERE THAT GUY GROPED ME -- but I managed to not say anything. Thank God. I'm having that problem lately. Feeling things at the tips of my lips -- words that need to be said, I guess, that I refuse to let out.

There are concepts I'm still having difficulty understanding. I'm 99% oblivious to social norms thanks to Asperger's. I have friends that explain these things to me but ... I'm still so stupid about it.

I was listening to Rob speak about his mother complaining that he had to go with George to his culinary school to put in his financial aid forms. George is like me when it comes to those things -- he won't do them alone. Rob compromised. He did what he needed to do with his family first and then went with George. I sat there, the entire time, and could not comprehend the saying FAMILY FIRST that his mom kept throwing at him. What the hell did that even mean? More importantly, WHAT THE FUCK IS A FAMILY?! Because I certainly don't have one.

He then made reference to how his mom is best mom and I asked him to explain -- and he told me about how she's so proud of him for getting his two degrees and she immediately put up both of those degrees each time. After I felt like he had finished with his portion of the conversation ... I told him about how within two days of my degree coming in the mail ... my mother lost it. He started laughing and apologized for his reaction but I told him that it was okay. It's a piece of paper, really -- and it signifies nothing of importance to anyone in my vicinity because I should've gotten higher grades, should've been more, should've done more, should've been better. MY INFERIORITY COMPLEX IS PULSATING but I'm starting to believe that I always feel inferior because I allow people to make me feel that way (bullying, abuses, assaults, general interactions with my vicinity) and honestly? I'm sick and fucking tired of feeling as though I'm not a worthy enough human being.

I've been told my whole life that WHO I AM is wrong. That my heart is too big for my own good. That I'm too sensitive and I need to reign it in a little. FUCK THAT. This is who I am and in the words of Maureen from Rent: Take me baby -- for who I am -- or leave me. <-- That includes people in my vicinity too.

I saw Rent today! I was in the Orchestra -- in the center aisles -- and I loved it. I've been singing songs from the musical all day. A woman actually stopped me in the street and spoke to me about it.

I adore Angel and Maureen! Angel reminded me of one of my first boyfriends -- they had a lot of the same traits. My then boyfriend and I spent a lot of time in night clubs -- dancing together and he always came in his best drag queen attire.

Maureen is the kind of girl I've always wanted to be. Vibrant. Exciting. Flirtatious. Carefree. Overly dramatic.

Viva La Boheme!

Just in case anyone was curious: I didn't get any studying done today. I ended up staying in Manhattan and actually ventured over to Kinokuniya. I haven't stepped in that place in years. I was sitting in the little cafe upstairs, sipping an ito en tea, attempting to not think about anything ... but that feeling crept over me. That sadness. I started to look at everyone passing by and, at one point, I completely froze and my heart pounded like crazy but it was a false alarm. I don't think I'm going to be stepping into Kinokuniya ever again. Like I told Rob when I met up with him later -- it was nice having a taste of my old life (because I went to Kinokuniya way before I met everyone) but my heart is never going to be ready to go to certain places that meant so much to someone else too.

I almost forgot about this. I was standing on a random street corner. A little after Rockefeller Center and a little before Bryant Park. I saw this huge bus that was filled with people facing the sidewalk -- so the seats were shifted to the left or to the right (depending on how you looked at it) rather than towards the front. In other words -- people's shoulders were towards the front of the bus -- their faces were facing streets that they'd normally have to turn their heads to see. I saw this and instantaneously started dancing around, jumping around, and waving at them. EVERY SINGLE PERSON ON THAT BUS SMILED AND WAVED BACK. Fuck yeah. That made my day.

I came home early because I have work in the morning. Opening shift, ew. I'd still be wandering the streets of Manhattan if it were up to me.

The good thing? Right after I get out I get cheesecake! Whatever happened to my diet? This is why I'm fat. Yes, seriously. I EAT LIKE SHIT ALL THE TIME. I can't even go without eating and I'm constantly left wondering how the hell I endured physical hunger when I was anorexic/bulimic/both. I think I compensate now by overeating and I'm constantly trying to get it under control. I used to not eat really up until a year ago. Something just snapped and I've been eating since. This sucks :( but I'll figure a way out of it. I really don't like food to begin with. There are other ways to sustain one's self and have energy to burn.

I saw Tomas last night and after a bad movie marathon ... there was a moment. He grabbed me and pulled me into his chest and I instantaneously melted against it. I grabbed a hold of his shirt with my left hand and I just breathed him in. I tried so hard to permanently encode that moment into my memory. I didn't want to let him go. I'm just glad that we were finally able to fix things. We fell apart for a while there but we're quite okay now.

I miss having that security. I will never understand why I rejected Tomas when it came to being with me. Why I rejected so many people who wanted to be with me. I have an idea but I don't know how right it necessarily is. I can't settle. I've gotten a wonderful, beautiful, irreplaceable experience of love. In a way that girl is the ghost that haunts my heart every day. Every person on this planet has one. Every single one. The person that, remembering them, just breaks your heart yet mends it all the same. That person that makes you wish you could've been your best when it mattered -- even with everything -- and you just break because of how inherently flawed, limited, and human you really are.

No one will ever get as close to me as she did. As far in as she did. No one will ever mean as much to me as she did. That's quite okay, really.

Other people aren't okay with me being single and they make it known every time they see me. "Oh, Ria, he's/she's a wonderful person! Why don't you date him/her?!" ... I'm not that easy when it comes to being roped into a relationship. I don't want a relationship. I've become convinced that most people don't know how to have one. I was recently speaking to Angie on my cellphone (she called me out of nowhere after disappearing for a while) and she described a feeling that I related to. Her boyfriend's father is dying of some disease from smoking as much as he has -- and she feels like she's being neglected and disregarded. She said that this is important -- his dad dying and everything -- but their relationship is important too and that both can coincide with each other rather than one thing taking priority over the other. I started crying. She apologized and said she didn't mean to upset me. She didn't upset me. That just described something I could never put into words. She managed to explain this to her boyfriend who, initially, became upset with her -- but took her out to lunch the next day and paid attention to their relationship. I WAS IN AWE. A good type of awe.

She brought up a thyroid article she read that kept referencing what I've been consistently struggling with accepting even though I know, in my head, that it's true -- even in my situation. Just because it happened to me doesn't make it any different (but for some reason my heart thinks that) and I exclaimed that I had read it too and I'm really happy that this entire thing is coming to light and into a news-source that so many people read every day. She had tried to take the article from her therapist's office apparently but her therapist wouldn't let her. I adored her explanation: "you don't understand! My friend! SHE NEEDS THIS ARTICLE. I love her so much and she hurts so much over this. I have to show her this! She needs to forgive herself even if other people won't forgive her and this article could be the start of that!" I didn't have the heart to tell her that the article didn't really make myself be any less hard on myself and anymore understanding when it came to myself and that stupid fucking disease. That I still torture myself regardless. That I keep trying to land myself on powerful medications to numb my thoughts and my emotions but the psychiatrist keeps refusing.

Everything is such a blur. Life is just experiences and people -- people and experiences. I wish this world didn't have any good byes. Ever. And I wish good people never had to die.

^ Rob and I talked about her Uncle tonight. I brought him up actually. I never really met him but he was the only one in her family that I felt welcomed by. I wish I could explain this without feeling like I was crossing lines but that's impossible -- I feel like I'm crossing lines right now, even, and all I'm doing is referencing my thoughts and feelings. I started crying and told Rob that I would give anything -- anything -- including my own life to bring him back and Rob looked dead at me and goes "I would too". That man did not deserve the bad things he got. He was such a wonderful man. I know I never met him but I sincerely believe that. People like her Uncle don't come around very often. He did not deserve ... that. Why did it have to be him? Why the fuck did it have to be him?

Rob told me that he wanted those same answers and that we both ask the same questions, in our heads, to ourselves all the time. Maybe we do. I don't know. Seriously. Why did it have to be him? Out of everyone in the world during that time ... why him?

I can't believe I have to study for the MCATs tomorrow. What the hell am I even doing? One look in that Organic Chemistry Review Book and I wanted to throw up. An impending feeling of doom slammed against my chest. I'm already convinced that, no matter what I do, this test is smarter than me -- and I'll never get in to medical school.

I've heard about things like the above. It always varies. I use these kinds of stories to justify me being creepy towards strangers, lol. Not really creepy. But I try to smile at everyone who passes by me or wave a little wave. You never know who's life you're going to change. Sometimes, I feel like I'm the only one that's this sensitive to these realities. It could be because I survived the suicide of someone very close to me. Or it could be how important kindness was to me when I was in that kind of state (I'll never forget the nurse who made me laugh). Or it could be the fact that I worry about the high suicide rates in the 18 to 24 age range group and the 55+ age range group -- so I go out of my way to be extremely kind. Suicide is a preventable thing. I think so, anyway. We shouldn't give up on these people because we're afraid. No one's tomorrow is guaranteed -- we just assume it is. Why not try our hardest for these people even if the worst happens?

I don't understand this giving up thing -- it's such a terrible folly of the human heart. We love with limitations and that's not love at all.

I have a dinner date with my boys tonight at 99 miles to Philly. I already informed them that I might be a little late considering how the Pharmacy is and all of that and they promised that they would hold me a seat. I'm trying to fix the Tomas thing by inviting him out even if he may be busy and, lucky for me, when he's not busy he's actually been coming out. It's a little awkward, on my end, because I'm still in the observing stage of interacting but I don't want to give up. I hate giving up on people.

I was called in to work, out of nowhere, yesterday morning and I ended up being late. As I was walking passed the bus stop -- this elderly man stopped me. He recognized me from the Pharmacy and he spoke to me for 40 minutes. Luckily, I have an understanding boss and I wasn't on the schedule so there weren't any problems. He's a very intelligent man! Complaining about the usual things elderly people complain about that I sort of agree with. He told me about this book that I vaguely remember the name of that I definitely want to read. He thanked me for being the nicest one in that Pharmacy and let me be on my way; I'm assuming that the conversation ended because the bus came ... and, honestly, I didn't mind keeping him company until then.

A lot of the elderly people that come to the Pharmacy -- when I'm hiding out by the compounding section -- have asked "where's the pink lady?" "where's Maria?" "where's that nice girl who's always here?" and, when they call up for anything, they specifically ask for me. I don't know how I gained so much trust from all these people ... but I did. Maybe it's because I actually remember so many names to the correct faces or I actually care about their day and well being.

Jerome Donlon died. It happened a few months ago, apparently, when I wasn't around. I only noticed because I looked in his profile; he hasn't been there since March. There was no phone number either. After pestering people and freaking out about it ... they finally told me. Yes, he did die -- but no one wanted to tell me because of how attached I was.

This is going to be a problem. I'm attached to a lot of elderly people. I used to walk around and do Jerome's shopping -- no matter how busy the Pharmacy was -- because he was too weak from the chemotherapy to really do anything. I couldn't make cancer go away and I couldn't make him feel better through words (because I suck at that) but I tried through kindness. I used to sit next to him and just ask him about his day and I never asked him about his cancer; I figured he'd bring it up if he'd want to. It feels so weird knowing that I'll never see him again. I wish I knew that March was going to be the last time I saw him. I still remember that day. We were swamped in the Pharmacy but I saw him out of the corner of my eye. I turned towards his direction and flashed him a big smile and waved at him. When I managed to get everything under control -- I rung his things up and walked right up to him and took a seat next to him. We just talked. He looked a little weaker than before but I didn't think anything of it ...

I don't like it when my patients die. John, Juana, and Marcelina are going to break my heart when they go too.

Edit:

Here's photos of two cakes that made us laugh at Sundaes and Cones. There's also a video of Gene attempting to explain the Menstrual Cycle but I had to upload it on Rob's youtube account, from my phone, and I made it private. I'll post that video when Rob is done doing whatever he wants to do with it.

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Que Sera Sera.

always live, all the time, 25 hours a day a million days a week

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